


Shame

by cyoctrix



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, just fuck me up, this is not a happy blurb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 09:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8618167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyoctrix/pseuds/cyoctrix
Summary: There's a reason Credence has that particular haircut.





	

Children aren't born with fear or shame. Circumstances breed it, apathy breeds it; really, the odds of coming out 'normal' are rather slim, aren't they? All the things that could go wrong... 

You could have been a disobedient child. 

"Credence."

You could have followed in the witch's footsteps.

"Credence."

You don't make a habit of meeting anyone's eyes. You're not entirely sure why - it's not quite normal to wonder about these things - but you wonder anyway, when the oppressive sear of your latest penance is favored by a bold rush of heat in time with your racing heartbeat. This was how you learned your numbers, you recall.

One, two. (Sorry.) Three, four, five. (I am sorry.) Six, seven, eight, nine. (I am very sorry.) Ten.

You're afraid of what you'll find if you meet your mother's eyes.

She caught onto this, at some point, your reticence to face her Justice. It used to be that when you closed your eyes, you would imagine her devastating frown, her crippling disappointment. That was before the decisive swoop of her knife felled the longer tufts of hair that once shadowed your gaze.

Clear sight, you discovered, made facing her Justice all the more difficult to bear. It became more real.

"Credence..."

The breathy, daunting curtail of her voice, rather than the name itself, is what finally captures your attention, your wide eyes locked on the woman in question. Not her eyes, of course, but an area just at her brow. There's a round, concave spot there. That spot never changes.

"I'm sorry, Mother. I wasn't paying attention." Honesty is best. You are the very picture of penitence, shoulders bowed forward and white-knuckled fingers clasped at your front.

It's eerily reminiscent of prayer, the way your head bows and your expression clears. It should speak of deep humility. All you feel is shame. When she beckons to you with an outstretched hand, you almost feel thankful. There's no shame in this kind of pain, after all. It doesn't cut quite as deep.

**Author's Note:**

> I had this in my head all day. I love Credence. I hope he gets hugged in many a fanfic, even if it's not mine.


End file.
